


Bite the Bullet

by punishers



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gay Panic, M/M, Wintercastle, and you'll love him, blood like lots of blood, bucky is not canon, but frank is, fed!bucky, frank's first gay romance, post-the punisher season two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-07-31 15:15:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20117182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punishers/pseuds/punishers
Summary: When the Punisher and a government employed assassin are looking for the same man, it's only reasonable that they work together.Featuring James Barnes, Frank Castle, Gay Tension, and a Decent Storyline.





	1. that's my kill.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for coming,,, please stay and read more. this is a super short little teaser but uhhh i hope you enjoy it because it was super fun to write. i love these frank and bucky. i really appreciate you. hi and bye.

Blood smells like shit.

It’s fucking gross, sticky and hot and stains everything. Like right now, as fist meets face, splitting skin and busting open veins. 

“You wanna talk?”

“Fuck you.”

Guys always like playing tough in situations like these. It makes them feel like they’re in charge of their own beating, which is probably the dumbest and most toxically masculine thing anyone could do. But it’s pretty fun to watch. Almost makes you want to laugh, really, but then you’d look like some kind of psychopathic sadomasochist who gets off on watching bleeding men try to reclaim their strength.

In all honesty, while he’s genuinely focused on the task at hand, Bucky is also thinking about how nasty this guy’s blood feels on his knuckles. And, goddammit, it’s on his shirt, too. He’s going to have to pick up a stain stick on his way home. 

“I don’t have all night, man,” Bucky laments to Morrison, the gangster that he’s tied to a folding chair and shot in both feet. Seriously, this warehouse is dark and disgusting and he would much rather be taking a bath right about now.

“I already told you, I don’t know shit. And even if I did, I’d take it to the grave.”

Bucky misses the end of that phrase (as if it was something important to hear) — his attention turning to the unmistakable sound of footsteps. They’re heavy, echoing slightly. Maybe two hundred feet away. Male. Top heavy, but average build… that’s funny, Bucky could have sworn he killed all the guys in here. He raises his handgun toward the rhythmic sound of a heavy gait, moving in quickly. This dude isn’t even trying to be quiet — clearly he feels comfortable in situations like these. 

Could this actually be Barracuda? No fucking way. 

No fucking way it’d be this easy. 

“Hey, come on out here,” Bucky banters, “unless you want a piece of lead in you.”

A stutter in the steps, then a shaken grunt, some low muttering. Then a man stepping out of the shadows, giving Bucky a quizzical, almost dazed look. 

Why is he the one confused?

“Castle?” Bucky lowers his gun, stepping toward him. He can hear Morrison yelling and shuffling around in the chair, but that’s not quite at the forefront of his mind. How could it be — with Frank Castle standing five feet in front of him?

Frank runs a hand over his face, lowering his gun as well and shaking his head. “James — man, what are you doing here? What are you doing?”

“What am I doing? What are you doing? You’re supposed to be dead. Twice.” 

Frank doesn’t answer that, not that Bucky really expects him to. Instead, the Punisher looks around the warehouse, gesturing to the bodies on the ground. “You do that?”

Bucky takes a look at his handiwork, shrugging modestly. Execution style kills all across the board. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of himself. “Got a tip that these guys know a guy who knows a guy. Looking for a Barracuda, you heard of him?”

Frank perks up at that, shifting his weight from foot to foot and cocking his head to the side. His attention shifts to Morrison and his ridiculously loud talking, clearly annoyed. Frank gestures softly, prompting Bucky to move to the side a little, then lifts his gun and swiftly shoots the gangster in the knee. Morrison passes out. Back to business. “Barracuda? C’mon — what are you looking for him for, huh?”

To bring him some homemade fucking cookies. “I’m gonna kill him.” 

Frank laughs — actually, genuinely laughs and it’s the most terrifying thing Bucky’s ever heard. “No, you’re not. That’s my kill.” 

Bucky huffs, turning his back to Frank to returning to his unconscious hostage. “The U.S. government wants him dead, man. It’s my job to make him dead.” He hears a snort from Castle and shuffling boots as the marine follows behind Bucky. “Besides, you and I both know that I’ve always been a better shot than you.”


	2. next best man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all ,,,, i'm so sorry this took so long. i just didn't have the motivation sksks. this chapter is really short. please read it. thanks for all the comments and kudos and love and shit. it made me so happy and i really appreciate it. you guys are really sweet. next chapter will be longer, and i'm gonna start working on it asap so that we can have some stuff coming out quickerksjskjs.
> 
> also twitter keeps suspending me, follow me @bernthalbitch

James Buchanan Barnes was an asshole in high school. 

This shouldn’t really come as a shock — everyone’s an asshole in high school. Something about waking up early to learn about shit that won’t matter once you graduate makes teenagers into little monsters. Fortunately for him, Bucky was also fairly popular. He was good at football, a decent addition to the basketball team, dabbled in debate for a little while. He was an asshole, for sure, but not necessarily disliked by the masses. His home life was good. His parents were happy. He’d enlisted for the Marine Corps. His life was pretty much perfect. 

And then the spring of senior year happened. 

Every teenager can mark the moment where they changed. Adulthood is palpable — you can always feel the shift that makes you into a different person than you were before. 

For Bucky, that shift was in the spring of his senior year, and that shift was named Steve Rogers. 

Steve was the first boy that ever caught Bucky’s eye. Now, in time, he would realize that this crush was a beautiful and essential first step to blossoming into his sexuality, but at the time, poor Bucky was just more confused than anything. 

Poor, stupid Bucky. 

Poor, stupid Bucky was sheltered by his surroundings (read: rich white male privelege) and ignorant to the world around him. One thing he was not ignorant to, however, was that Steve was not always named Steve, and that once, he had a name that was more feminine, the name that his parents gave him when he was born. Steve grew up wearing frilly pink dresses and playing in his mom’s shoes until he realized that he hated the length of his hair and the color pink and the way that his breasts grew when he turned 11. So he changed his name and started taking hormones at 14. And soon, his body finally got the memo that he was a boy.

And that was great for Steve, really, but it gave Bucky more questions than anything. Because he liked Steve — a boy with full lips and soft eyes. And that meant that he wasn’t straight. There was no getting around it. So he did what any irrational teenager struggling with their sexuality would do. 

He fucking lost his shit. 

He panicked. How could he not? He was about to become a Marine. Marines were tough and gritty. 

Marines were not gay.  
~

Frank Castle is a creature of habit. It doesn’t take long for Bucky to remember this fact — Frank moves like there’s someone behind a computer screen giving him directions. The occasional falter in his step, even it follows a rhythm. 

Castle is a military boy, through and through. 

It shows constantly — even now, as they sit in a near empty diner, filling up on stale 3am coffee. Frank holds his cup out for the waitress, calls her ma’am and thanks her profusely even though it’s gotta be the worst cup of joe he’s had in his life. Once she’s out of earshot, Frank leans back, lifting out of the seat a bit to settle in more comfortably. He’s looking at Bucky with this confusion, this amusement. 

Frank wants to hear a story.

“You just gonna sit there,” he asks eventually, his voice sounding like he eats gravel for dinner, “or you gonna start talkin, huh?” 

Bucky snorts, taking a sip of his coffee — he keeps forgetting how nasty it is. “What, am I the enemy now?” 

Frank shrugs, a little frown on his face as he takes a quick glance out the window. “I don’t know what you are.” 

Barnes shakes his head, sighing. It makes sense, Castle’s wariness. Especially with the fairly recent events concerning one Billy Russo. But Bucky has questions of his own, some of which he knows Frank will never answer. That’s the most unfair thing about it all: this isn’t the same guy that Barnes is used to. Maybe that Frank died when his family did. Or maybe Bucky has it all wrong and shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions ten minutes after reconnecting with a man who’s legally dead. 

But that doesn’t matter right now. Maybe it’s ridiculously one sided, and maybe Frank will walk right out of this diner the moment he gets the information he wants, but that isn’t what’s important. Bucky wouldn’t wish a life off the grid for anyone, especially not someone he served with, fought with, would have given his life for. Not to be annoying or anything, but at the very least, Bucky owes this to Frank. He knows that. 

“Ask me anything,” Bucky says finally, leaning back and relaxing his arms. Trying to appear open, friendly. 

“Who you workin’ for?” Frank’s voice still hasn’t lost that edge. He’s just not going to let his guard down, is he?

“Look,” Bucky starts, wanting to reassure Frank before anything else. This was going to sound worse than it really was. “I’m not gonna tell anyone where you are, okay? I need you to know that.” Frank makes a noise that sounds sarcastic, so Bucky takes in a breath and then confesses. “I work for the government.”

“Jesus fucking Christ—”

“It’s not like that,” Bucky says, holding his palms toward Frank. “I’m not a fed, okay? I’m a private gun under a CIA division. I work for the government, I’m not a part of it.”

Frank sits back, his eyes distrustful. “A fuckin’ hitman for the CIA, huh? Who signs your checks? Who do you work for?”

“Listen to me,” Bucky grunts, his voice straining. “Listen to me, okay? You’re not gonna touch her, alright? She sent me here for a reason, if you have a problem with me, that’s fine, but we’re just doing our jobs.”

Frank’s massive hand comes up to his face, index finger and thumb running down the corners of his mouth. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Dinah Madani, alright—” Before Bucky can finish, maybe threaten Frank with death if he dares hurt her, Frank is doing that scary ass laugh again (Bucky is not ever going to get used to that shit).

“Oh, you’re shittin’ me.” He trails off with a sigh. “Goddamnit, Barnes. She couldn’t have me so she took the next best man.”

Bucky doesn’t even have time to be offended, he’s too confused. This is not how he saw that reveal going, so excuse him for being a little discombobulated. “I’m sorry, did I miss something?” 

Frank doesn’t bother answering, instead getting up and setting three crumpled five dollar bills on the table. “Next time you see your boss, tell her Frank asked how the new job’s going.”


	3. first name basis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo!!! another late chapter sksks but at least it didn't take as long as chapter one did. i'm doing my best guys. so uhh i hope you like it, it's short because i'm not very good at writing long works. i am good at writing one shots though so uhh maybe i'll start doing that some more. im gonna get a tumblr and put my fics on there too and maybe that'll help me write more because ik tumblr has a strong writing community, yk?? anyways yeah read this and fmot @bernthalbitch xoxogossipgirl

Dinah Madani has literally no time for Frank Castle’s bullshit. 

That stupid message he sent back with James? Bullshit. Her new gig at the CIA is going great, no thanks to him. 

“Madani, I’m serious. What is he talking about?”

She doesn’t feel like explaining this to James. First of all, it’s not his business. Second of all — actually, nope. Nothing else matters. It’s really just not his business. She’s sitting in the bathtub with a morning mimosa, sighing as James waits on the other end of the line. “Listen, it’s not that big of a deal. Talk to me about Morrison, did you get any new leads?”

She can practically hear James shaking his head on the other end. “Dinah, you’re not gonna explain to me how a CIA agent is on a first name basis with The Punisher?”

“James,” she finally snaps, “we’ve helped each other out before, okay? I needed him and he needed the help of someone who wasn’t trying to kill him, so we did what we had to do.” It’s vague and the tone of her voice reveals that she’s not going into any more detail. So if that doesn’t work for James, he’s out of luck. “I need you to tell me about Morrison.” 

There’s silence, like James is trying to decide whether or not to accept Dinah’s bullshit explanation, but then he sighs. “Dead end.”

“Someone has to know something.”

“Yeah, someone does know something.” She was afraid he’d say that. “Maybe you should talk to him.”

Dinah shakes her head, lifting bubbles from the bath and sliding them over her skin. “I asked Frank if he wanted the job, he said no. I put you on this and I need something to show for it.”

“Dinah,” James says, bass in his voice that actually commands her attention, “he was there for the same thing I was. He knows something about Barracuda, okay? The only way we can get to him is with Frank’s help.” He’s right. She sinks down into the bathwater, her hair floating along the surface. “You’re the only one who can get in touch with him. If you want to get your shit finished, you know what you need to do.”

Then he hangs up. 

Dinah’s only mad for a second — the kid’s got heart. They’re too much alike for her to be too irritated with him. But the last thing she wants to do is get wrapped up with Frank Castle again. Both times, it’s gone up in smoke and left a goddamn mess for her to clean up. 

Even so, he always gets the job done . . . Fuck.

Some people would try to call Frank nocturnal, but that’s not true. See, to be nocturnal, you have to actually sleep during the day. And Frank hardly ever sleeps. For example, he spent his day following up on another lead toward this Barracuda guy. Then he made himself some roasted vegetables for lunch (breakfast? Dinner? Fuck it. He ate roasted vegetables) and took about 30 minutes to rest his eyes before heading out for the night. 

His hood is up as he walks up the street, his eyes surveying the area around him. This road is one he hasn’t been down much since he’s come into town, so he’s a little more cautious than usual. Is that even a valid statement? Frank’s always cautious. It’s not something he can afford to turn off. He’s walking down the street when he hears a payphone ring. The sound alarms him for a moment - when’s the last time he heard one of those things? He brushes it off, walking past it. The phone shuts off shortly after, which Frank is grateful for. Not thirty seconds later, another payphone is ringing as he approaches it. 

That’s not an accident, is it?

Frank tests the theory, turning around and moving toward the other phone. True to his assumption, it rings again. He quickens his pace, grunting as he picks up the phone with haste. He doesn’t speak, just holds it up to his ear and waits for trouble to speak on the other end.

“What the hell are you doing in Baltimore?” The voice makes him smile, tip his head back and adjust his hulking body against the bulky telephone. That’s trouble, alright.

“You get my message?”

Madani snorts, and Frank can practically see her scrunched up nose as she replies. “I asked you a question, Frank.” She doesn’t waste any time getting to her reason for ringing him so goddamn cryptically. “Why are you looking for Barracuda?”

Frank shrugs, shifting his weight between his feet. “That’s what I do.” He doesn’t elaborate — why would he? Madani’s over here asking dumb ass questions, calling him like this an episode of Sherlock. She’s gonna have to do more than that with him and she knows it. 

“I already have a guy on it,” she says (like he doesn’t already know). “So you’re either gonna work with him, or be on the first flight out of town.” 

Frank’s stunned into silence for a moment — he always forgets that Madani is one of the few people he interacts with who isn’t afraid, and that always takes some getting used to. But beyond that, what the fuck? No, really, what the fuck?? “Why would I —” Frank pauses, huffs out a laugh, “you think I’m doin’ that, Madani?”

“Just scratch my back, Frank,” the woman sighs on the other end. She sounds like she’s walking — of course she can’t really have this conversation at her desk, can she. “I guarantee you’re going to need me at some point during all this. And if you follow through, I’ll pick up the phone next time you call.”

Frank sighs — this isn’t what he wants. It’s not how he operates. There’s a reason he said no to this CIA bullshit in the beginning. Frank isn’t a goddamn gun for hire. He did that already in the Marines, and it made him do some of the most evil things he’s ever done in his life. He doesn’t give a shit if it’s Madani or the goddamn Pope. This isn’t his vibe. But he’s not gonna walk away from this. He finishes the shit he starts, period. Frank runs a hand over his face. “Alright, fine. How am I supposed to get in touch with your boy again?” He’s not halfway through his sentence when the phone clicks and goes silent, leaving Frank to groan, slamming the phone back against the box. 

“Sounds like we’re a team now,” says a voice from behind the veteran. He doesn’t have to turn around to know that it’s Bucky, probably with that dumbass smile, leaning against a building like some kind of lame ass Bond villain. “Well, let’s do this, partner. We’ve got some catching up to do.”


End file.
